Take a Hint
by Golden Waffles
Summary: In "Something Blue," Willow casts her Will-Be-Done spell and asks for her heart to be healed and her love to be returned. So what if the universe takes her at her word, and sends a certain blonde Wiccan to her door? Over, and over, and over, and over? Very loosely inspired by the romcom "Serendipity," but takes place in the canon universe.
1. Chapter 1

The pain was unreal. It had been one thing to know that Oz was gone for an indefinite stretch of time, but it was another to have to actually face the idea that he might never come back. Before, she could visit his room, touching each of his things in turn, breathing in his scent, looking at pictures of them together. His room had still radiated his essence, like he had just stepped out and could return at any second. But now that was gone, and there was nothing left to cling to. She felt like her heart had been replaced by a dense, sucking black hole that threatened to consume her entire self. She felt like she had been cleaved in two by the white-hot pain, and half of her had fallen away and disappeared to wherever Oz was, lost to her, maybe forever.

Buffy was sympathetic, but she was dealing with her own stuff and trying to enjoy the budding start of her relationship with Riley. Willow was just the rain ruining their picnic, almost literally. And these days, Xander was always with Anya, who never failed to turn Willow's mood from bad to worse, so he was out. Giles was babysitting a de-fanged, somehow even more annoying Spike, and there ended Willow's entire friend group. Unless she counted Oz. Which, obviously, she couldn't.

Talking hadn't helped. Drinking hadn't helped. But maybe there was one more option. She had been putting it off because it was dangerous, and because Oz would definitely disapprove, but in the middle of the night, in the faint, lingering edges of alcohol-induced haze, none of that seemed to matter. She would fix this. She would stop the pain. She had the power.

While Buffy slept, unaware, she fetched out her candles and spellbook and snuck out to the dorm bathroom.

"Harken well, ye elements. I summon thee now. Control the outside, control within. Land and sea, fire and wind. Out of my passions a web be spun. From this eve forth, my will be done. So mote it be."

There were spells that, when she attempted to cast them, left her wondering if anything had happened. This was not one of those spells. The candle flames flared all the way to the ceiling in a flash of light, and a crack and roll of thunder nearly knocked her flat. Magic tingled in her fingertips. She had done it. It had worked.

She checked her watch. It had taken her longer than expected to set the spell up, and people would be waking up soon and probably wanting to use the bathroom. Adrenaline and hope both rushing through her veins, she scrambled to clean up the spell components and return them to the trunk at the foot of her bed. The smell of smoke still hung faintly in the air, but hopefully it would disperse in time. Buffy stirred in her sleep, and Willow slipped under her own covers and closed her eyes, heart racing too fast for her to drift off.

Tomorrow would change everything. Tomorrow, _she_ would change everything.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy had left for the morning, after checking on her with visible unease and concern. Willow apologized for the drinking, said she was feeling a little better now, and sent her on her way. She would make it up to her later. She would fix everything.

First, though, she had to do the most important thing. She picked up a mirror— she wasn't sure why, but it felt right— and looked herself dead in the eye. If anything happened, she wanted to see the change. Maybe color would return to her face, or light would rekindle in her eyes. Maybe she would smile again.

"It is my will that my heart be healed. Now." She didn't feel any different. She checked the mirror, but nothing seemed to have changed. "I will that I not feel this pain," she tried again. Again, nothing happened. "I will that my true love be returned to me, and my heart be unbroken." Silence. She set down the mirror with a disappointed sigh.

A tentative knock sounded at the door.

Instantly, she was flooded with surprise and hope. Could it have really been that easy? Could Oz be on the other side of the door? After all these months of miserable loneliness and unsent letters, had this one spell been the solution? She should have cast it ages ago. This could have all been over already.

Shaking off her shock, she leaped off the bed and flew to the door, throwing it open, hoping it was Oz, making herself _believe_ it was Oz, but belatedly realizing that it might just be the bear-like RA coming to yell at her for burning candles in the dorm.

Instead, it was none of the above. On the other side of the door was a blonde girl, staring at her raised hand with a mystified expression, as though it had done something she hadn't expected.

It was a weird enough contrast that Willow almost didn't have time to be disappointed. When your two possible options were "short, repentant auburn werewolf in torn-up jeans" and "giant angry bearded guy in college-logo sweatpants," there's something more-than-usually startling about finding "confused blonde girl in tie-dye hoodie, floor-length skirt, and Doc Martens."

"Hello?" Willow said, cocking her head at the incongruously-dressed stranger. The girl blinked her blue eyes at Willow and didn't respond right away. "Can I help you?"

"Um… n-n-no. I mean– I-I don't think so. I… um… m-must have the wrong door," the girl murmured. She ducked her head, then looked up and down the hallway, but didn't seem any less confused by what she saw.

"Oh. Who are you looking for?" Willow asked. She wasn't overly familiar with her neighbors, but it was possible she would recognize a name or a description enough to point this girl in the right direction.

"Um… no one," the blonde girl answered.

"No one?"

"I, um… w-w-wasn't looking for anyone. I must have l-lost track of…" Her brow was still furrowed in confusion. She finally lowered her hand from its knocking position and instead hugged it protectively around her middle. "Um…W-Which building is this?"

Willow frowned, feeling concern for the girl, even if they didn't know each other. She seemed more lost than should really be possible on a campus this size. And if the slight stuttering was any indication, she was really nervous.

"Stevenson," Willow offered, trying to school her features into a nonthreatening, nonjudgmental expression.

"Oh…" The name didn't seem to mean anything to the girl.

"By the science building," Willow added.

"Okay…" That didn't seem to help much either, but the girl seemed to feel like she had already overstayed her welcome, because she nodded slightly and took a small step back. She looked like she intended to leave, but wasn't sure how.

"Are you okay?" Willow asked, following her a step without thinking about it. She felt a stirring of protectiveness for the lost stranger. She and the Scoobies had saved and protected people for a good three and a half years now, and this girl definitely seemed to need help.

"Yeah, s-sorry. I-I guess I'm just… sorry," the girl finished lamely, with a crooked half-smile that softened her face. She ducked her head a little, blushing. "Bye."

She turned to go, but Willow put a hand on her arm to stop her. The stranger froze like a statue at the touch.

"Wait… I was just about to head out. Where were you trying to go?" Willow asked. The stranger looked up with muted hope in her eyes.

"The library."

Willow nodded. She could use a trip to the library. It wouldn't hurt anything, at least.

"I'm headed that direction. Want me to walk you over?"

The girl blinked up at her, and her eyes flitted for a second to the hand on her arm.

"Um… sure. If it's n-not too much t-trouble." She gave another shy smile. "That'd be… nice."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm Willow, by the way," the redhead said as they walked out of the dorm building together. Tara had already forgotten which building it was, and as they exited, it took her a moment to place where on campus they were. The sign outside read "Stevenson Hall," but nothing looked familiar.

"Tara," Tara replied, still sweeping her gaze across the campus lawn, trying to figure out if she had ever passed this way before. She admittedly hadn't been paying much attention as she had walked from her dorm room to the library for study group, but it still seemed bizarre that she would end up walking past the library to a random dorm building and then climbing the stairs to the second floor, all just to knock on a stranger's door. Even a nice stranger. Even a nice, cute female stranger about her age. Even a nice, cute female stranger about her age who would touch her arm and whose room smelled faintly of candle smoke and magical herbs.

"So are you new here?" The redhead- Willow- asked her. Tara gave a slight nod, returning her focus to her new acquaintance.

"Yeah. I-I mean, I'm a freshman. So kinda new." She shrugged self-consciously. "But I've m-mostly been okay finding my way around. I mean, I've n-never knocked on someone's dorm room door while looking for the library." She attempted a weak smile, watching Willow out of the corner of her eye. She didn't want Willow to think she was stupid. People already assumed that enough because of her stutter. Getting hopelessly lost on a campus with barely two dozen buildings wouldn't be a strong recommendation for her intelligence. "I don't even remember walking there. It was like… like suddenly I was just there. Poof. Like magic."

Willow's brow furrowed.

"Like magic," she echoed. Tara kept a subtle eye on her reaction, but the redhead moved on quickly. "It happens. I mean, you get lost in thought and then you end up walking somewhere you weren't planning to. Like across campus." Willow blushed slightly. "Or in front of a car."

The last part was muttered, and Tara wasn't sure if she was supposed to have heard it, but she raised an eyebrow anyway in silent question. Willow gave a self-deprecating laugh and started to explain.

"Yesterday. I was walking in town and thinking about… things. Things that have happened lately. And I forgot to look before crossing the street. It was dumb." She shook her head, apparently embarrassed to admit it. "So at least you didn't do that."

Tara frowned. She had only just met Willow, but the thought of her walking in front of a car made her shiver involuntarily, something inside of her squeezing like a vise.

"Well I'm glad you're okay," she said, with a voice much softer than she had intended, almost to the point of being overly familiar. Regardless, Willow gave her a grateful smile.

"Thanks. Me too, I think."

Tara almost questioned her about the 'I think,' but they definitely didn't know each other well enough for that yet. Even though she had only met Willow today, she could see the lingering sadness around her green eyes, bleeding through into her aura, weighing her down. She imagined it had something to do with the "things that have happened lately" and the split-second crushed look that had appeared on Willow's face when she answered the door and saw Tara there.

"There's the library," she said instead, as the building came into view.

"Yep," Willow agreed. "It's probably my favorite building on campus. I mean, all those books… That knowledge and history…" She blushed again. "I mean, that probably sounds really nerdy."

Tara shrugged.

"If it is, then I m-must be really nerdy, too. Because I love it, too. Their r-rare book collection is… um… really impressive."

Willow's featured lifted into a smile, her eyes brightening.

"See, that's what I like about college. More people actually care about learning and stuff. Not like high school." Her hands swung into motion, adding emphasis as she perked up.

"Makes sense to me," Tara agreed. "I mean, if you're p-paying all this money to s-study something for four years, you'd b-better care about it."

Willow nodded vigorously.

"Exactly! See, you get it. I don't think my friends see it that way." She sounded almost hurt by that fact.

"I guess… um… different p-people are here for different reasons."

(Like running away from their family. Or spiraling into grief from their mother's death. Or needing to experience a real life while they still have the chance, even if it turns out to just be for a few short years. Or running away from a bleak, terrible future. Or wanting a chance to be liked or even loved by someone for the first time in their life.)

"Yeah, I guess." Willow seemed to give this some thought as they took the last few steps to the huge library doors.

"Well… we're here," Tara said, trying to hide her disappointment. She had enjoyed meeting Willow, and wished that they had more time to talk. Maybe she could ask her if she wanted to grab coffee (although Tara hated coffee) or lunch (although she had just eaten lunch). "Um… thanks for w-walking with me. Really. I… uh… I owe you."

"Don't worry about it. It's fine. I like coming here. Like I said, favorite building." Willow shrugged awkwardly, but still gave a reassuring smile.

"Yeah." Tara hesitated, mind still racing for some reason to stay in Willow's presence. But after several seconds of pregnant silence, she was forced to give up, blushing. "Um… I guess I'll s-see you around, then? Maybe?"

"Probably. It's a small campus. And we're in the same year." Willow smiled sheepishly. "Well, I'm sure you were coming here for a reason, so I guess I'll let you get to it."

"Okay. Bye, Willow. It was nice m-meeting you."

"You too. See you around."

As Willow departed, taking a few steps backwards before turning away, Tara felt a pang of disappointment that Willow hadn't said her name— 'You too, Tara.' or 'See you around, Tara.' Maybe she had already forgotten it. That was a shame. She seemed sweet. Not everyone would walk a bemused stranger halfway across campus so they didn't get lost.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Tara gave a small sigh and checked her watch. She was at least ten minutes late to her study group. She pulled open the heavy wooden doors and slipped inside.

Her group had taken over a table in the corner, with books and notebooks and writing implements covering almost every inch of its scarred wooden surface. All the chairs were taken. Tara lowered her head and tried to convince herself not to just leave. She reminded herself that they had a test coming up, and she could really use the study time. College was a lot harder than she had expected, and she was quickly realizing how poorly her underfunded rural high school had prepared her for it. Besides, she would never make any friends if she didn't put in the effort of meeting people.

Taking several deep breaths and begging her voice to be steady, she crossed the remaining distance to the table and cleared her throat awkwardly.

"S-sorry I'm late. I, um… I g-guess I got… l-lost. On my way here." So much for her voice being steady. She closed her teeth over her tongue to punish it.

"It's fine. We only started a few minutes ago," one of the boys said without looking up from his notes. Tara relaxed minutely and looked around for a spare chair. After a moment of searching, she dragged one over from another table, setting it between two of the least-intimidating members of the table, who both scooted reluctantly in either direction. The space they left for her was small, but she was grateful that they were letting her in at all.

That gratitude faded almost immediately as the girl on her left smirked at her.

"How'd you get lost on this campus? The library is literally in the center of everything." It was a hard call whether the girl was attempting a poorly executed friendly joke or a sideways insult. Regardless, Tara ducked her head until her hair partially shielded her face.

"I-I-I guess I j-just…" Her voice stuck in her throat, her mouth moving uselessly, and before she could form words to defend herself, someone else joined in.

"Yeah, there's almost nowhere on campus where you can't see the library. It would take some serious effort and true talent to get lost looking for it," he laughed. Tara flinched. He could have meant it as good-natured ribbing, but she didn't know any of them that well, and experience had taught her that if it sounds like an insult and stings like an insult, it's probably an insult. Anxiety rising hot and cold in her chest, she stole a glance up at the group. Most of them were looking at her now, waiting to see if she would stand up for herself.

"I-I-I g-guess I w-w-wasn't paying much attention. Or s-something. S-s-sorry."

The guy at the head of the table waved his hand dismissively, flipping through one of the books on the table.

"Come on, guys. Focus. We've got to get started." He began to talk about the homework, gesturing towards the papers on the table. Tara pulled out her notes and settled them on her lap. There wasn't much room on the table for them, and this way she could hunch protectively over them, blocking her teasing classmates from her view— and vice-versa.

As the group talked around her, mostly ignoring her (_thank the gods_), she started to get the feeling that their understanding of the material might be even worse than her own. As they went over the bare basics of their professor's last lecture, she amused herself by doodling in the margins with her favorite pen. It was a fountain pen that her mother had given her on her first day of her freshman year of high school, and she considered it one of her greatest treasures. It was a deep green that made her think of old-growth forests, and it was decorated with gold inlay that reminded Tara equal parts of leafy vines and Celtic symbols.

Once all the margins of her notes were filled with looping patterns and illuminated letters, she surreptitiously pulled a dollar bill out of her pocket. She had gotten it as change with her lunch but was reluctant to spend it. One of the dollar's previous owners had crudely but viciously scribbled the word _BITCH_ across it with a ballpoint pen. She had toyed with the idea of "fixing" it, and she seemed to have the time now. She set her pen down on the table, deeming it not the right tool for the task, and instead reached into her messenger bag for a marker pen with a wider calligraphic tip.

By the time the study group was wrapping up, Tara had turned the ugly profanity into a lovely, flowing cursive script of the word _WITCH_, and below, she had amended it with a tiny, ultra-fine-tipped _"Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."_ She felt better about that, at least. As people around her packed up, she blew on it lightly to dry the ink and tucked it back into her pocket. No one spoke to her as they left, but she hadn't expected them to. She began packing her notes back into her messenger bag when she realized her prized fountain pen had disappeared. A surge of adrenaline sent her jumping to her feet, but the boy and girl who had been sitting next to her were long gone. She wasn't even sure if she knew their names.

She pulled her messenger back out and set it on her chair, methodically emptying it of its contents— two textbooks, three notebooks, a paperback novel, and her family's Book of Shadows, entitled _A Compendium of Witchcraft_ (which she carefully set underneath the chair to prevent strange questions from her remaining classmates). She checked all the pockets and the corners of the bag's interior where small items sometimes got trapped, but it did her no good. The pen was gone. Her mother's pen was gone.

She felt her eyes watering, but forced herself to stop. It wasn't really lost yet. Probably one of the people next to her had picked it up by accident. She could ask them in next week's class and they could return it to her, unharmed. It couldn't have gone far. And no matter how indifferent her peers were to her, surely they wouldn't steal an obviously important pen in front of a dozen other people. She could tell them it was one of the last reminders she had of her late mother, and that she really, really wanted it back. It was probably just an accident. It wasn't worth crying about. Yet.

Shaking her head at the day she was having, she packed the two textbooks, three notebooks, novel, and various writing implements back into her messenger bag and made a beeline for the door. All she wanted now was to go home, forget about the study group, and mentally replay her encounter with Willow on a loop for the rest of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Willow sat in class, leg twitching up and down restlessly. She wanted to chew the end of the pen (a bad childhood habit she still hadn't quite kicked), but forcefully reminded herself that it wasn't her pen. It was one she had borrowed from the girl in front of her after hers had turned out to have exploded in the front pocket of her backpack, thoroughly coating all of her carefully arranged pens, pencils, and erasers in a greasy layer of blue-black ink. Just another casualty of the terrible day she was having.

She couldn't even bring herself to be that upset about it. Before class, she had tried the spell again in her room, staring at herself in the mirror and insisting "I wish for a sign about Oz— Daniel Osborne. I want to know where he is. And if he still loves me. And is he coming back? And what am I supposed to do if he doesn't?" Then she had dissolved into wrenching sobs and barely had time to wash her face before running off to class. It was a small miracle that Buffy hadn't been around to witness her meltdown, or else she'd be even more worried about her. Her little detour with the lost girl— Tara, she was pretty sure was her name— had thrown off her schedule more than she'd realized. That was okay, though. It had been one of the few things that had happened over the past few days that hadn't been terrible. Strange, yes, but not terrible. She had actually kind of enjoyed talking to her, and part of her wished she had gotten more information than her first name. She could use a few more friends in her life, outside of the Scoobies.

The professor dismissed the class, and it wasn't until Willow was going to put the pen away that she remembered it wasn't hers. The girl who had given it to her— Julie, maybe?— was already heading for the door.

"Wait! Julie!" Willow yelped, hopping to her feet and chasing after her.

The girl paused and looked back.

"Julia," she corrected.

"Right. Sorry. Your pen." Willow held it out as a peace offering. Julia cocked her head at it, frowning, and shrugged.

"It's not mine," she said carelessly.

"You let me borrow it from you," Willow pointed out, still holding it out.

"I found it in my bag. I must have picked it up somewhere, but it's not mine. Keep it if you want."

She made no move to take it. Willow hesitated, uncomfortable.

"But… this is a really nice, probably expensive pen." It was a fine pen, heavier than most, forest green and decorated with what looked like gold filigree. "It must belong to someone."

"Probably. Not me, though." Julia pulled her backpack higher on her shoulder. "Look, I've got to get to my next class. Keep the pen, or turn it in to Lost and Found if it makes you feel better. I can't even write with the stupid thing." With that, she gave an unconvincing smile and turned, taking long strides down the hallway. Willow frowned down at the fountain pen in her hand and reluctantly slipped it into her pocket. She would figure out what to do with it later. Maybe she could find the owner.

She retrieved her backpack from the classroom and walked into the nearest bathroom to inspect the damage. She opened up the zippered compartment, glanced at the oozing mess of ink, and immediately rezipped it out of sight. Before she undertook such a Herculean task, she was going to need a _large_ cup of coffee.

While she was alone in the bathroom, staring herself down in the mirror, judging her own pale skin and sad, shadowed eyes, she leaned forward to make one more attempt at invoking her spell.

"It is my will that the pain in my heart be cured. That the hole in my life be filled. That my love be returned to me once again. So mote it be." She stared at herself, but nothing seemed to change. Oz was still gone, and her heart still ached with loss. With a sigh, she gave up and left in search of the largest mocha money could buy. What magic wouldn't cure, chocolate surely would.

Willow wound her way around campus until she reached her favorite coffee shop. This involved about five minutes of being alone with her own thoughts, which meant that by the time she got there, she was ruminating over Oz again, and the pain and loneliness were threatening to drown her in darkness. When she arrived, oblivious to the outside world, she went to pull the door open just as someone from the other side pushed it. She jumped back with a yelp, but still almost got run down by a girl in a hurry to exit.

"Oh gosh, I'm s-so s-s-sorry!" came a vaguely familiar voice from the curtain of blonde hair.

"Tara?" she asked, as her brain belatedly made the connection.

"Willow?" came the surprised reply. A hand came up and swept the cornsilk hair out of the way, verifying that this was the same girl from earlier. "Um… hi. Again." Tara lowered her head, seemingly embarrassed, but her eyes still glanced up to meet Willow's.

"Hi. This is pretty funny. Never meeting for weeks, and suddenly twice in one day."

"Yeah. Well… S-Sunnydale's a funny place like that," Tara commented with a wry smile that didn't fully belie her unease.

"Were you getting coffee?" Willow asked, although as soon as she said it, she noticed Tara's empty hands.

"Um… N-no, actually." She looked behind her, eyes scanning the room through the glass storefront, taking it all in as though she had never seen it before. "But… they p-probably sell tea, right?"

"Yeah, they do. Their coffee's better, though. Trust me. I was just about to get some, too, if you wanted to come with. I mean, unless you're on your way out. Which you are, are, obviously, since you're on that side of the door. I don't know why I even said anything. Sorry. Ignore me."

Tara gave a small, shy smile as she rambled on, only speaking up once she'd run herself into the ground.

"Um... Sure, I c-could use something to drink." With a small, self-conscious shrug, Tara turned around and held the door open for Willow to walk through. Willow hesitated, blushing with embarrassment, but then entered, pleased when Tara followed her in.

"I can't s-stand coffee, actually. Too bitter," Tara confessed, flashing a brief, sheepish smile.

"Tea is bitter," Willow countered. "And that's a funny attitude for someone in a coffee shop."

"Yeah, I guess…" the blonde murmured in an odd tone, looking around the interior of the café.

"To be honest, I don't really like black coffee either. It is pretty bitter," Willow admitted.

"I've only t-tried it once or t-twice, when I was, um… younger. B-but I think my d-d… my d-d-dad made it too s-strong. It was like… drinking hot asphalt," Tara added, her nose crinkled. Her voice caught especially bad on the word 'dad,' but she was smiling hopefully at Willow. The redhead laughed, and her new friend seemed heartened by the response.

"That's why you get the types with lots of cream and sugar in them, like lattes or mochas. Personally, I like mochas. It's like really strong hot chocolate, but with a lot more yummy caffeine. You should try one."

Tara's pink lips quirked into a smile.

"Um… m-maybe I will."

Together, they stepped in line.


	5. Chapter 5

Tara wasn't sure what these weird memory lapses were from, but she was now convinced that they were somehow tied to Willow. After her last afternoon class, as she was walking back to her dorm, she suddenly looked up and realized that she was in a coffee shop, with no recollection of entering it. Once she had gathered her bearings, she had made to leave, when who did she (literally) run into but the same person she had run into last time this had happened.

Still, despite the weirdness, she did get a thrill from seeing Willow again. And the redhead was still friendly and still sweet and still fun to talk to. So here she was again, defying her better instincts, standing in line as Willow tried to convince her to try one of the fancy polysyllabic coffee drinks advertised on the shop's extensive menu.

"Alright, alright, I give. I'll t-try one," she said through a laugh. The smile felt strange on her, almost too wide, too revealing. But it also felt great to laugh again, like some poison was leaving her body and some tension in her chest was loosening, letting her breathe easier. It had been weeks, maybe months since she had really laughed with someone. Especially without wondering if they were laughing _at_ her rather than _with_ her.

Willow clapped her hands in excited victory and gently pushed her forward towards the waiting cashier. When she ordered a small mocha, Willow beamed at her, which she was sure warmed her far more than the coffee ever would. As she fished the little money she had out of her wallet, she briefly worried that she would come up short, before she remembered the graffitied bill in her pocket. She handed it over to the cashier with a handful of coins. He put it in the register without really looking at it and, when she hesitated, pointed her to the side counter, where another customer was picking up his order. She nodded and took a few steps in that direction, peering behind the counter at all the strange grinding, gurgling, hissing, steaming machines the workers used as they made the complicated-sounding drinks. One barista measured something that wouldn't have looked out of place in a chemistry classroom, while another worked a blender in the background.

When she looked back at Willow, the redhead was getting a stack of change back from the cashier. She then skipped to Tara's side to wait with her.

"It'll be good, I promise," she vowed. Tara nodded, unconvinced. Willow made a face at her. "Really, if you hate it, I'll buy you a tea to apologize."

The idea of Willow buying her a drink held a sort of hope to it, even as she tried to convince herself to not get too hopeful.

"I'm s-sure it'll be fine."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be the one responsible for you buying something you hate, and then you just have this drink you hate and end up thinking 'Gee, Willow, thanks for pressuring me into spending good money on this thing I hate, which I didn't want in the first place, and _told_ you I didn't want.' And then you end up hating me forever."

A small smile crept onto Tara's face as she followed Willow's elaborate train of logic.

"I, uh, d-don't think I would get _quite_ that w-worked up over a small coffee," she reassured her. Willow gave her a wry smile, shaking her head.

"You'd be surprised. With the week I've been having, that's exactly the sort of thing that would happen." Her voice was clearly trying to stay casual, but the underlying bitterness was palpable, and the return of the sadness in her eyes suggested that she was still wrestling with some dark emotions.

"Rough week?" Tara asked softly, nudging her arm against Willow's in a small show of support. Willow sighed, nodding.

"The worst. And I've had some doozies before. But this is one for the record books." The pain in her eyes was becoming more and more obvious with each passing second, and without thinking, Tara reached out and put a hand on her arm, squeezing gently.

"I'm sorry," she said, with as much sympathy and sincerity as she could muster. Willow looked up at her and forced a sheepish smile.

"It's not like _you_ have to feel bad about any of it. So far, meeting you has been the funnest part of the day. Or parts. Two parts."

"Thanks. It's… it's been my favorite, too."

The barista signaled that their drinks were ready, and they stepped forward to claim them. Tara noted with some amusement that Willow's cup was at least twice as big as her own. She brought hers to her face and inhaled the steam. It did smell chocolatey. And coffee always smelled good, even if she didn't like the taste.

"Should I w-wait for it to cool off a little? Before trying it?"

"Probably, unless you have a superhuman tongue," Willow said offhandedly, inadvertently making Tara's mind stray into dangerous territory. The blonde tried to hide a blush by bowing her head over the drink, under the guise of carefully prying off the lid. Willow, perhaps realizing the accidental innuendo, rushed into an amendment. "I mean, you could burn off all your taste buds and then you'll never know if you like mochas or not. And that would be a truly terrible end to this outing. A Shakespearean tragedy for the modern age."

"Right. Um…" Tara looked around. She felt a little awkward standing there holding an uncovered coffee cup, and her messenger bag was pulling heavily against her neck. "Do you want to s-sit down for awhile? To let it cool down?" It was a dangerous offer, because Willow could very easily say 'no' and leave her feeling stupid and rejected and—

"Sure. Wanna go outside?" Willow unknowing interrupted her pessimistic spiral. Tara nodded and followed her lead. Willow held the door for her and nodded towards one of the tables that was shaded by a tree. They settled there, and Tara set the uncovered cup on the table, waiting for it to cool.

"S-so why has your week been so t-terrible?" Tara asked, remembering the redhead's comments in the coffee shop. "Unless you'd... r-r-rather not talk about it."

Willow tilted her head slightly as she thought, and seemed like she was going to answer, but finally just shook her head. A deep, regretful frown dominated her face, and it looked out of place there.

"That's really sweet of you to ask, but... it's really complicated, actually. I mean, everybody says that, but it really is this time. Some of it would be really hard to explain. I don't even know where I'd start."

"You d-don't have to. Really," Tara rushed to clarify. "I just thought… s-sometimes venting about it helps."

"Thanks, I'm a big fan of the therapeutic rant. It's just… hard to put into words. Which usually isn't a problem for me. I mean, usually my problem is too many words. And not enough context. And kind of treating conversations like runaway trains."

Willow offered the small joke with a self-deprecating laugh, and Tara gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"I, uh, g-guess I usually have the opposite problem. I spend whole conversations trying to get a word in edgewise, and the second I do, I f-forget what I was going to say and, well… usually end up saying something r-really dumb instead." She glanced down for a second, embarrassed, and when she looked back up, she spent a gratifying moment trying to read the redhead's expression. The shadow of the heartbreaking frown still remained, and Tara's heart gave a small twist at the sight.

"If it helps, I don't think anything you've said to me has been dumb at all," Willow said, offering a weak smile that valiantly fought against the sadder, more solemn expression that kept trying to break through.

"Great. M-maybe I'm making progress." Tara said encouragingly. "Is there… anything I can do to help?"

Willow seemed to rally her emotions through sheer force of will, shaking off the storm clouds. She shook her head at the question, but her smile already looked a little more genuine.

"You can try that mocha and tell me what you think. I'm dying to know." Willow was already drinking hers, so Tara assumed they must have cooled enough by now. She pulled her own cup closer and inhaled the steam. It smelled good. She raised a single eyebrow at Willow.

"You s-seem very invested in how this t-turns out," she observed, gingerly lifting the cup towards her lips.

"A girl's first mocha is a major life event. You're way overdue for the experience. I'm just glad I can be here to witness the occasion." As they joked, Willow's smile was losing its sad edge and was firming up around the edges, softening her expression into something more natural. Smiling back, Tara took a long sip of the drink… and immediately forced herself to not twist her face up against the taste. Willow had been right in that it was sweeter, more flavorful, and less bitter than normal coffee… but it was still coffee. But Willow's eyes were watching her expression, so she put the cup back down with a smile.

"You were right. It's really good," she lied. Willow's smile widened, which made it all worth it.


	6. Chapter 6

So here they were again. Twice in one day. It was strange, but given that meeting Tara was the least terrible thing to happen to her in days, Willow was willing to roll with it. And now they were sitting at a table under the trees, drinking mochas, which was a fine way to spend even the worst of days.

"So have you gotten to see the town yet?" Willow asked, setting her half-empty cup back on the table. She had gathered that Tara wasn't from the area, and she was curious about what Sunnydale would seem like to an outsider.

"Um… yeah, a little. There's, uh, s-some cool stuff around. Little shops and stuff." Tara fiddled with her own paper cup, then glanced up and seemed to notice the redhead watching her. She took a quick, nervous sip from the drink.

"Yeah, Sunnydale's pretty cool for a small town. I grew up here. Just graduated from the high school," Willow continued. Fond, nostalgic memories floated up in her head. Xander, Buffy, Giles. Cordelia. Jenny. Jesse. Oz. Her heart started to ache, and she quickly picked the coffee back up and drank a mouthful to distract herself. After all, she was with a new friend now, having a nice moment. There was no reason to dredge up even more sad memories. The blonde gave a small frown over her cup, her forehead furrowing.

"I've w-walked past there a f-few times. The, uh… the high school," she commented, still looking edgy.

"It used to be pretty nice. For a high school, at least. You know, before the, uh-" Willow paused for a minute, trying to remember the cover story they had used for their graduation day. "Gas main explosion."

She looked into Tara's eyes quickly, trying to tell if she seemed suspicious of the lie, but Tara blushed under her scrutiny and bowed her head over her coffee cup for several seconds, hiding her expression.

"N-no offense, but it k-kinda gives me the creeps."

Willow eyed Tara with renewed interest. If Tara was creeped out by the high school, maybe she could somehow sense the Hellmouth's presence there. She wondered if other people could, too. Maybe the locals were all used to it, but it would still give regular folks a wiggins. She would have to ask Giles.

"None taken. It is a bit on the creepy side now." Willow picked her cup back up and took another long sip of the rejuvenating liquid. The warm, sweet, bracing flavor grounded her. "So how about you? Where are you from?"

Tara shook her head with a shy, self-deprecating smile.

"N-nowhere you've ever h-heard of. S-Sunnydale might be small, but it's n-nothing compared to my, uh… my hometown."

"Just a dot on the map?"

"I don't even think it's on m-most maps."

"More cows than people?" Willow guessed with a teasing smirk. Tara glanced up at her face again, hesitating for a second before she finally relaxed and returned the smile.

"M-Maybe not cows. But p-probably more chickens," she admitted.

"I can't even imagine somewhere smaller than this. I think being so near to LA makes it feel extra dinky," Willow philosophized between sips. "So how'd you end up here?"

Tara peered at her through her eyelashes, a little slyly.

"S-Same way as everyone else. I applied. They accepted."

Willow grinned, realizing that Tara was now teasing her back, her pale pink lips pulling into a shy smile.

"Right, I forgot that's how that worked," Willow deadpanned. Tara's smile widened. She put the coffee to her lips again, and Willow noticed a flicker in her expression as she sipped, her smile tightening and one eye scrunching into a split-second grimace.

"I saw that!" Willow narrowed her eyes accusingly at the blonde, who had the grace to blush. "You liar!" She accused, unable to fully suppress her amusement. "You don't actually like it, do you?"

Tara gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged, not bothering to deny it.

"It's, um… a lot better than normal coffee. Sweeter," she admitted. "B-but still pretty bitter."

"Hmph," Willow grumbled, trying to look affronted, but finding the situation far too funny to pull it off. "I guess it's an acquired taste." She shook her head, chuckling at Tara's apologetic expression. "You could have just said you didn't like it. You don't have to sit there and drink it. I wouldn't have been mad or anything."

"You s-seemed so personally invested in mochas, I didn't want to l-let you down." Tara still smiled crookedly at her. "Besides, I don't hate it. It just… s-still has the coffee taste to it." She took another sip, again unable to repress a slight crinkle of her nose as she processed the taste.

"Fair enough." Willow took a long sip of her own and tried to imagine what it would taste like to someone who didn't usually drink coffee. "Well, don't bother finishing it on my account. I seem to recall promising to buy you something else if it didn't pan out."

Tara shook her head, pulling the cup towards herself, almost protectively.

"N-no, it's okay. I want to see if it gets better. You know, w-when I get used to the taste," she insisted.

Willow tried to read her expression, in case it was another white lie for her benefit, but she seemed to be earnest.

"Alright. If you're really sure."

Tara flashed her a more genuine smile, and Willow felt unexpectedly cheered by it, as though the dark clouds around her were lifting a little and letting in a ray of sunlight.

"I am."


	7. Chapter 7

Tara caught herself humming as she walked back to her dorm. As weird and suspicious as it was that she kept running into Willow, it was also doing wonders for her mood. She liked Willow a lot— probably too much, really. She knew she should be trying harder to control her feelings, but in truth, the little leap her heart gave when she thought about Willow felt too good to fight against. She hadn't let herself really _like_ someone in years, and she was surely entitled to one little harmless crush after the traumatic year she had had. It wasn't like it could actually go anywhere— on top of everything else, the odds of Willow being gay were slim— but she'd forgotten how nice it was to even think about someone that way.

It was enough to cut through her nervousness about possibly losing her pen. It was silly that something like that would make a difference, but her coffee with Willow had left her with a renewed sense of optimism. She had that class in a few days. Someone must have picked it up by accident, and they would naturally return it if asked. She was worrying too much. It wasn't like last time. It wasn't like her shoebox…

She clamped down on that thought before it sent her into another grief spiral. She couldn't keep thinking about that. She should think of happier things. Like Willow, and Willow's shocked face when she realized that Tara was lying about liking mochas, committing the ultimate blasphemy. Tara's lips curved into a smile at the thought.

Tara sat cross-legged on her bed, opening one of her textbooks to this week's chapter and flipping a notebook to a blank page. She intended to take notes, she really did, but she found herself using her fine-tipped pen in the margin of the notebook to write the word _Willow_ in different fonts and with different embellishments. W's were often some of the prettiest letters in a given script, and she tried out a few different versions, letting them sweep and curl their way across the page. _Willow_. _Willow_. _Willow_.

She caught herself twenty minutes later, the page almost filled with the word in different sizes and shapes, and she ripped it out of the notebook, blushing furiously. She felt like a creep, writing her name over and over like that, even if she really didn't mean anything creepy by it. It was just a pretty name, that was all. She couldn't quite bring herself to crumple and throw out the paper, so instead she folded it up and slipped it into the book like a bookmark before closing it. She clearly wasn't going to get any work done today, not with the bittersweet taste of coffee and chocolate still on her tongue and the image of Willow fresh in her mind.

She wondered if the trend would continue, and she would continue finding herself in unexpected places, only to run into Willow there. Strange as it was, she actually thought it was kind of a reasonable trade-off. The weirdness of getting lost balanced against the rush of seeing Willow again. But that was just her massive crush talking. She rubbed her forehead.

"What are you doing?" she whispered to herself. But she knew the answer. She was living. She was _letting_ herself live, letting herself feel things and experience things she usually didn't. This was supposed to be her chance. Twenty was just a year away, and she wanted to let herself really _live_ these last months of normal life. And that meant indulging herself when it came to things like this.

So she would allow herself this one giddy crush, this one fleeting friendship. Maybe nothing would come of it except a few more impromptu conversations. Or maybe everything in the universe would bend her way for once and Willow might like her back. She wasn't delusional enough to imagine that they could ever have a relationship— even if an entire lifetime of karma and luck broke her way, it wouldn't be enough for that— but maybe they would get to have a moment together. A touch. A kiss. Something. Anything.

And whatever this magic was that was pulling them into each other's path, she would figure it out. She would dig through all her books until she found an answer, and she would pray to every god that would listen that it was something simple and innocuous. After all, she had witnessed enough darkness in her life. The world had pushed her into shadows so many times that she had just learned to live there. Surely after all that, she had earned the right to a little light, a little sun. And where better to find the sun than here in sunny Sunnydale?

Giving up on any thought of schoolwork, she stretched out on her bed for a nice long daydream. In the morning, she would search through her grimoire for possible explanations about her lapses. She would ask around campus about her pen. She would actually finish her studying. And maybe, just maybe, the universe would bend her path into Willow's once again.

She couldn't wait.


	8. Chapter 8

After saying goodbye to Tara, who sweetly wished that her day would get better, Willow detoured back to the library. The Will-Be-Done spell wasn't working as well as she had expected, and she wanted to try looking up what she had done wrong. If it was a wrong ingredient or a missing part to the chant, she could fix that and then recast it. Granted, she wasn't feeling half as hopeless now as she had yesterday, but that was probably just the aftereffects of the mocha and the friendly conversation. To really feel better long-term, she needed to get her heart healed— _really_ healed— which required magic.

She entered the college library with a slight smile. It wasn't anything like the high school library where she and Xander and Buffy had spent the majority of their high school career, but it was still a beautiful old building that was filled with books, and that was enough to make it wonderful in Willow's eyes. And because it was Sunnydale, it had an impressive collection of rare and magical texts. She wended the familiar path back to the occult shelf, tucked back into a dim corner of the library, hidden away from the more popular sections.

After scanning the titles on the shelf, she selected a few promising-looking texts and pulled them down. She had probably looked at them before, but not related to this spell, so it was worth at least another cursory flipping-through. Carrying the heavy books awkwardly in one arm, she finally found her way to an empty table and sat down, spreading the books in front of her and setting her backpack on the floor by her chair.

In preparation for her note-taking, she pulled out a notebook, and started to reach for her special color-coding pens before remembering that the entire front pocket of her backpack was currently drenched in ink. Frowning, she dug deeper into the main compartment of her backpack, hoping that a stray pencil might have fallen there, trapped under the textbooks. As she shifted the backpack to give herself a better viewing angle, something under her chair caught her eye, and she leaned over for a better look.

"Well hello there. Where did you come from?" she murmured. Blinking down in keen interest, she fished a stray book out from under her chair. It was an ancient-looking and obviously well-loved book. The front cover, made of leather so softened from years of handling that it could have been fabric, bore the title _A Compendium of Witchcraft_. Eyebrows raised, Willow checked the spine, but there was no library label. It had to be someone's personal copy.

She briefly debated whether flipping through it would be a breach of its owner's privacy, but it was a short debate. She was burning with curiosity, and she rationalized to herself that the book may have its owner's name inside, which would make it far easier to return once she had finished looking at it.

Eagerly, she flipped it open, and on the inside, on the front page, there was a mark like a family crest. Willow kept turning pages, and the paper, heavy with age but softened by use, was almost silent. The book, like many magical tomes Willow had seen (mostly from Giles's collection) was handwritten, but not only by one hand. Generations of witches (and perhaps warlocks) had contributed to the tome. Notes littered the margins, adding clarifications, corrections, and questions to the main text. There were journal-like pages where the writers would give their opinions about the spells or potions or charms, or else record what had happened when they cast it. Occasionally, there were even scraps of paper— new and old— index cards, and post-it notes continuing the addenda.

Willow was completely absorbed. There were spells, rituals, and potions she had never heard of in her life, and even the ones she recognized had little notes in the margins about how to improve or alter the casting. Some seemed to be religious or spiritual in nature, but others were practical. A ritual for blessing a sacred space sat on the page opposite a spell recommended for mending socks

She still had her eyes glued to it when the lights flickered a ten-minute warning to mark the building's closing. She looked up in surprise, her head swimming as she remembered she was still in the library. Before she could talk herself out of it, she tucked the book into her backpack for safekeeping and returned the library books— none of which had been touched since she took them down— to the nearest shelving cart. If no one had come looking for _A Compendium of Witchcraft_ yet, they might not know it was missing, and it was clearly the priceless work of generations of accomplished spellcasters. Not everyone would realize its value, and in the wrong hands, it could be damaged or lost or even worse. She told herself that she would have to make a flyer for it, or tell one of the library workers, or maybe ask around that Wicca group on campus she had been avoiding since the less-than-impressive orientation.

She could feel the weight of it on her shoulders as she walked back to Stevenson, and as soon as she got back to her room, she unloaded the book, checked its condition, and gave it a place of honor on her desk. She would look at it more in the morning. She had already learned more from it than she had from the past five witchcraft books combined, and there was still plenty more to be read.

As she emptied the remaining contents of her backpack, she was confronted once again with the fact that the front pocket of her backpack was drenched in ink. With a sigh, she decided that she finally had mustered the emotional fortitude to check on the damage of her exploded pens. She had briefly considered trying to wish the mess to clean itself up, but something stopped her, and she reluctantly took her backpack into the dorm bathroom and upended the entire contents of the front pocket into the sink there. No less than three of the pens appeared to have burst, which struck Willow as extremely odd. One pen breaking was bad enough, but three? It seemed wildly unlikely.

Frowning, she rinsed the pens off, salvaged the ones that could be saved, and did her best to scrub the blue-black mess from the inside of the pocket, making a mental note to invest in a protective pencil case in the future. When she had gotten it as clean as it was likely to get, she stood back, sighing down at her newly ink-stained hands. She would let it dry overnight, and hopefully by morning, the remaining ink would be too dry to spread.

She returned to her room, cast a longing look at the grimoire on her desk, but reluctantly climbed into bed instead. Buffy would be out patrolling until late, and she wanted to think about everything that had happened that day. Casting the failed spell, meeting Tara, her pens exploding, that new fountain pen whose owner she still needed to find, running into Tara again, finding that witchcraft book… it had been quite a day, really. There was a nagging suspicion in her head that she was forgetting about something, but she shrugged it off and settled in for the night, wondering if she might run into Tara again sometime soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Tara tore out of her room almost at a run, heart racing with panic and dread. It seemed impossible that she could have lost _another_ of her mother's priceless treasures so carelessly in such a short time. But it would probably be fine. The book would be in the library. No one would have a reason to steal it. To most people, it would just look like an old book. Worthless. Not worth taking. Probably just another library book. It would be on a table or a chair and she would be able to safely retrieve it and then _never_ let it out of her dorm room ever again.

She was the first person through the library doors when they opened. The sleepy circulation desk worker said that no one had turned in a book overnight, but that it could easily could have been camouflaged on a shelf or under a chair. Tara nodded and set off towards the table her study group had used the previous day. She walked several restless laps around the table and chairs, checking it from every angle. But she could already tell that it wasn't there.

Suddenly, she caught sight of a familiar text out of the corner of her eye. Whipping around, she saw a stack of magical tomes sitting on a nearby cart, awaiting shelving. She immediately rummaged through them, but they were all library copies of simplistic texts, not her heirloom grimoire. For just a moment, she sat down at the table again, in the same seat from the day before. Tears were threatening behind her eyes, but she braced herself against the guilt and grief. She wasn't going to break down in public, and there was still every chance that someone had picked up the book without knowing its significance. Not everyone was a monster. Some good Samaritan could have picked it up and kept it overnight, with the plan to turn the book into the campus lost and found. It could still turn up unharmed.

Ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she stood back up and looked around. All around her were books, shelves, tables, chairs, and other little hiding places. She resolved to check them all before giving up. The book had been here, and it may still be here. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't at least look for it first.

Hours later, her resolve was wavering. She was sure that her eyes had scanned over every inch of the library, with no sign of _A Compendium of Witchcraft_ anywhere. She was tired, and her mouth was dry, and she was pretty sure she was covered in dust and cobwebs from the shelves, and she was just about ready to give up and retreat to her room to wallow in mixed guilt and self-loathing.

She never should have brought the book with her in the first place, but she had been adding a note to one of the spells before she had to leave for study group, and she had wanted to finish it while she still remembered what she wanted to write. So she had slipped it into her bag like it was no big deal. Just another old book. And then she had left it behind. Just like her pen. Two of her most valued possessions, both gone in one fell swoop.

The irony of the situation was that the book itself contained a spell for finding lost things. She had been considering using that spell to help find her missing pen, which is what led her to discover that the book itself was also missing. It seemed crazy that she would not only get lost twice in one day, but would also manage to lose two of her most prized possessions. Either something magical really was at work or she was finally starting to go crazy…

Her inner tirade of self-flagellation was interrupted by a near-collision as she rounded a shelf at the exact time someone else was coming from the other direction. They were both staring at the ground, so they didn't see each other until they almost bonked heads. As Tara stumbled hastily back out of the way, she saw a familiar flash of red.

"W-W-Willow?" she hadn't meant for her voice to sound so shaky, but it had been one hell of a morning.

"Tara! Hey!" said Willow, her morose expression instantly replaced with a bright grin, as though seeing Tara was the best thing she could have hoped for. It wasn't a reaction she got very often. The smile was like seeing the sun after a long day of rain, and it did wonders for Tara's ragged nerves. She managed a weak but heartfelt smile in return, drinking in the sight of a friendly face after a very rough morning.

"L-long time no s-see," Tara tried to quip, but her voice hadn't quite recovered from the morning's trauma, and her misery bled into the lighthearted comment.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Willow's eyes— which Tara once again noted were a gorgeous green and practically sparkled with energy— searched her face curiously. "Hey, are you okay?"

Tara shrugged ambivalently, not sure how to respond. Willow's expression was concerned and sympathetic, which was a welcome change of pace from most of her peers' borderline bullying. But how could she explain to someone she just met that she felt like she was losing her mind? That in the past year, she had systematically lost everything that had ever been important to her? And that over the past week, she had been even losing all her reminders of better times?

"It's been, um… k-kind of rough morning… I guess," she said lamely. "I…" She hesitated, mouth working in silence, then cut herself off with a shake of her head. She didn't want to explain. She didn't want to sound careless and stupid in front of Willow. "I was j-just gonna… you know, head b-b-back to the dorms, I think."

Willow looked slightly disappointed at this news, but nodded.

"Okay. Well, it was nice seeing you again. I hope your day gets better." She gave another encouraging smile. Tara knew she should leave, but at the same time, she didn't want to walk away from Willow and her smile.

"W-Well, it can hardly get w-w-worse," Tara pointed out, stalling for a few extra seconds.

"Do you want to—" Willow hesitated, and in the brief space of her silence, Tara's stomach growled audibly. She blushed scarlet as Willow stifled a laugh.

"I skipped breakfast," Tara mumbled as an explanation, lowering her head to avoid Willow's eyes.

"And lunch, I assume," Willow added. Tara looked up, slightly surprised.

"Is it that late?" she asked. She hadn't been watching the time. She knew she had been searching for at least an hour or two…

"It's a little after one o'clock," Willow informed her.

"Oh. N-no wonder."

"I was going to head to the caf after this. Do you want to come to lunch with me?" the redhead offered, a little sheepishly. "I mean, you don't have to. If you just want to go back to your dorm, that's fine."

Tara hesitated. Her plan had been to retreat to her room and hide under the covers. That was still a tempting plan. On the other hand, Willow was here, offering her sympathy and smiles. And they would get to talk some more. And maybe it would distract her from her horrible situation. And she did really want something to eat and drink.

"Are you sure?" Tara asked. "I m-mean, you must have come to the library for a reason, right?"

Willow shrugged.

"Yeah, but the library isn't going anywhere. I can come back later. Right now, I'd rather go to lunch with a new friend."

Tara felt her whole body flush with unexpected pleasure. They were friends? Already? She had never befriended someone so fast. Especially not someone she liked as much as Willow. And Willow wanted to spend more time with her? This was unprecedented. She couldn't keep herself from cracking a smile at the thought.

"W-well I can hardly say n-no to an offer like that."


	10. Chapter 10

Tara was quieter today than she had been yesterday over coffee, Willow noticed. She still looked a little upset— her face was pale and tight with worry, she was quieter, and her stammer was more pronounced. Willow filled the silence with a long, meandering story about her psychology class and Buffy's unorthodox but compelling answers to the previous day's questions. Tara listened attentively and smiled at the right moments, but underneath it all, she still seemed distracted and worried.

"So at first I thought maybe Buffy just had the hots for the TA, this big burly guy named Riley, but now I'm starting to think she might actually like the class. Which is cool, but also kind of weird, because I don't think she's ever liked a class before," she babbled on. Tara smiled at her, but the way she crossed her arms tight over her chest and angled her head slightly down made her seem tense and defensive.

"Buffy's your r-roommate, right?" the blonde asked, apparently prompted by Willow's lingering gaze.

"Yeah. We were best friends in high school. We started off with different roommates, but mine was super loud and crazy, and hers was a de- uh… deviant. Highly… deviant." Willow caught herself before she could finish the word 'demon,' but she couldn't tell from Tara's expression if she seemed suspicious of anything. She was giving her a strange, almost worried look, but seemed to let it go for the moment.

"That's, um… that's cool. That you got to g-go to college with your b-b-best friend." Tara attempted a half-grin, but it didn't look entirely genuine.

"Yeah, it's pretty great. I mean, we don't see each other as much as we did in high school, but it's still nice to know that she's around."

"I w-w-wish I had a r-roommate. But I have a, uh… s-single."

"But isn't that a good thing? I always thought most students would kill for a single. Especially freshman year."

"I know, but I… um… thought it would be n-nice… you know… to have s-someone around. Like a friend. O-or even j-just… someone to compare n-n-notes with. N-nobody in my family has gone to c-college before, so…"

She was clearly trying to say it casually, but Willow could sense the loneliness and nervousness behind the words, and it tugged at her heart. She had a sudden urge to put an arm around Tara's shoulders, or link their arms or hands. Anything to show her that she wasn't as alone as she thought.

"I'll always compare notes with you, if you want," she said hurriedly. Tara looked up, a spark of what looked like hope in her eye. It made Willow barrel on. "I'm a great notetaker. I write down everything. And after class, I copy all my notes into a special notebook and color-code them for maximum study-age later." Willow realized how crazy that probably sounded, especially to someone she just met. "And it's possible I shouldn't have been so quick to admit to that."

Luckily, Tara smiled at her in response. Her smile was crooked and awkward, like she was used to holding it back. Willow felt a pang at the thought, and vowed to make it come out more. The sight of it gave her a warm feeling in her chest, like she had done something right. Tara's eyes started to slip back towards the sidewalk, but they paused on Willow's hands, and she tilted her head slightly, looking interested.

"D-Do you use… um, like fountain pens? For your notes?" Tara asked. Willow gave her a surprised look.

"Not usually, no. I'm a felt-tip or ballpoint girl myself, but I did use one yesterday. How could you tell?"

"Y-your hands. They have ink on them. That, um… happens to mine, too. When I use them. It takes forever to w-wash off." Tara held up one of her own hands, and Willow saw faint ink marks on her pale, slender fingers. "W-what were you doing y-yesterday?"

"Nothing, really. Just taking notes in class. My usual pens exploded, so I had to borrow one until I could get mine cleaned off. Hence the inky hands." She wiggled her fingers a little, showing off the copious ink stains. Tara looked confused and intrigued.

"That's f-funny, that they would loan you one. N-not a lot of people use them."

"I thought so, too, but she said it wasn't hers. She just found it in her bag and it was the only spare one she had." Willow fished the pen out of her pocket and studied it for a second, barely noticing the sharp intake of breath beside her. "It isn't monogrammed or anything, but it looks— Tara?" Willow looked to her left, but Tara was still frozen several steps behind her. "Tara?"

The blonde unfroze in a rush, surging forward, eyes fixed on the pen in her hand.

"That's it! You f-found it," she gasped, a hand over her heart. Willow thought she saw tears in her wide blue eyes. She reached out with both hands, and Willow relinquished the pen. Tara rolled it over in her hands, checking it for damage, but her face and body language both showed pure relief. She swallowed hard and met Willow's eyes again. "I thought… it might be gone forever," she said in a breathless voice.

"It's yours? The girl, Julie— no, Julia— must have found it somewhere and picked it up on accident. She said she couldn't even get it to write."

Tara took in a shuddering breath, nodding, and resumed walking towards the cafeteria, still alternating her gaze between Willow and the pen. Her fingers traced over the patterns automatically, and Willow found herself almost transfixed by the motions.

"It was p-probably out of ink," Tara said, pausing to glance at the nib, testing it on the pad of her index finger.

"It can't have been. I wrote with it for the whole class," Willow said, then blanched slightly. "Sorry about that, by the way. I didn't know how important it was. I mean, I thought it looked really fancy, like someone would be missing it, but I assumed it was Julia's. When she told me it wasn't, I was going to put up a sign or something."

"It shouldn't have been able…" Tara began, then shook her head like she was focusing on the wrong thing. "It was a g-gift. F-from my mom. I thought I was losing my mind when it disappeared. That girl m-must have been in my study group."

"I'm just glad you got it back," said Willow, still watching the relief play out on Tara's expressive face. Tara pressed the pen to her chest and nodded fervently.

"Me too. Thank you, Willow. For k-keeping it safe." She gave her a look of intense gratitude, still blinking tears from her shining blue eyes. Willow nodded, feeling unworthy of the thanks, but glad that Tara wasn't upset with her.

The last thing she needed now was to start a fight with her new friend. She had tried a few more "heal my heart, restore my love, end my sadness" commands that morning, to no apparent effect.

At least she didn't feel nearly as sad now as she had earlier, although that seemed more down to Tara's presence than anything that useless wish spell had done.

"Was that what you were upset about at the library?" Willow asked, trying to keep her voice casual but gentle. "Losing your pen?"

Tara slipped the pen into her pocket, but left her hand in there with it, as though reassuring herself it hadn't disappeared again.

"No. Well… sort of. I've just… had a l-lot of weird things happen the past few days," she said. Her mood still seemed a little bleak, but at least a tiny bit of the darkness had lifted, like the sun peeking out from an overcast sky.

"Tell me about it," Willow agreed with an empathetic sigh.

"Well… at least w-we're here together, right?" Tara said, a shy, crooked smile on her face. She seemed so hopeful that Willow couldn't help but return it.

"Absolutely."


	11. Chapter 11

Tara closed her door behind her and leaned against it, feeling lightheaded and weak-kneed and flushed with sensation. She couldn't stop thinking about Willow. This dumb, fleeting crush was spiraling out of hand faster than she'd imagined possible. Willow was so cute and so sweet and so cool and so smart. Tara was sure she could listen to her talk all day and never get bored. Lunch had gone so long that they were the last two people in the cafeteria by the time they realized they should go.

She was still convinced that the sudden weirdness in her life had something to do with Willow, but she still had no idea if Willow was the cause of it, or if she was just another symptom of some larger magical event. She wished she hadn't mislaid _A Compendium of Witchcraft_. It was her best reference source for all forms of magical hijinks, on top of being a beloved family heirloom and one of the few possessions she had inherited from her mother. But now she had found her pen, and she was determined that she would find her book as well.

Feeling newly motivated after her lunch with Willow, she pulled out the school directory and began making a list of names and places. If someone found a book like hers and they wanted to turn it in, there were only so many places it could sensibly be handed off. The library, the rare books room, maybe some history or religion professors, campus security…

She would call around (or, more likely, her voice would fail her on the phone and she would be forced to go in person or send emails) and see if anyone had heard of a book being turned in. And then she would make a flyer about the lost book, with her dorm phone number and maybe an offer of some reward. She wasn't going to stand idly by while the only happy parts of her past were systematically ripped from her.

She paused as she was flipping through the directory, past the long list of students, arranged by year and then by last name. A name had caught her eye— _Summers, Buffy_. She tilted her head, staring at it for a moment. Hadn't Willow said that her roommate was named Buffy? Next to the name was the extension for her dorm room. It was in Stevenson Hall, which only confirmed her identity. It was Willow's number. Tara wavered for a second, wanting to write it down but not wanting to seem like a creepy stalker. Finally, she compromised by sticking a post-it note onto the page so that it just barely stuck out. She could decide later what to do with that knowledge.

Feeling hopeful, she set her list by her phone. It was the weekend, so there was no use in calling the campus offices today. No, today she had another use for her time.

She gathered a notebook, some post-it notes, and— thinking of Willow— a half-dozen different colored pens, and headed back to the library. She may not have her _best_ magical reference on hand, but there were at least a handful of others that she could look into. Maybe one of them would hold the answer to her mysterious situation.

After all, there were a lot of possibilities on the table. Maybe they were memory lapses, maybe they weren't. Maybe Willow was involved, or maybe she was an innocent bystander. Maybe she was a side-effect, rather than the cause. Tara really wanted to believe that.

The library was bustling with students who had already finished their classes for the day, so Tara kept her head down and made her way back to the occult section. The books from earlier had been re-shelved, so she slowly walked up and down the rows of titles, eyes scanning for anything that might be relevant.

She sat down with a small pile of carefully collected volumes and began her search. 'Finding yourself somewhere without knowing how you got there' obviously wasn't a chapter in any of the books— she would never get that lucky— but as she flipped through, she scribbled down options, flagging pages with post-it notes as she went.

_Memory alteration?_ Possible. Not outrageously difficult, if you had the right ingredients, but it also begged the question of _why_? Why make her forget walking across campus, of all things? There didn't seem to be any evidence so far that she was doing anything else with her lost time, so what would anyone gain from making her forget?

_Mind control?_ Harder than memory alteration, but more specific. It would at least do more to explain how she could end up in some random dorm building or coffee shop without remembering how or why she went there. It was worth considering, at least.

_Forced teleportation?_ It was _technically_ possible, but rare and difficult, and the sheer amount of magic required would be incredible. It was hard to imagine someone successfully teleporting her without her sensing the change in energy flow around her.

_Altered time?_ The most ridiculous of all of them. She dismissed it instantly, and almost considered tearing those pages out of the book, or putting a note in there about how it wasn't even worth attempting.

Hours later, her eyes were tired, her stomach was growling again, and her neck was sore from being bend over texts all afternoon. She stood and stretched, biting back a groan. The books she had chosen were littered with scraps of paper and post-it notes, and she had four pages in her notebook filled with possible (if increasingly unlikely) explanations.

She had made a list of follow-up options as well. After all, she had other magical texts besides _A Compendium of Witchcraft_, although none that were nearly as good. But she could check them, just in case. And if she still came up empty, she could ask Mr. Bogarty at the Magic Box if she could look at his collection. And if even _that_ failed, her last resort could even include going back to that ridiculous campus Wicca group just to see if any of them might know of other resources she could draw from. But that was the worst case scenario.

She pulled all her loose papers and post-it notes out of the books she had used and moved them back to the shelving cart, although she could have sworn she had started with a five or six books, and now there were only four. Given everything else she was dealing with, she opted not to dwell on it. She had to pick her battles. She just hoped that she would finally start getting some answers soon.


	12. Chapter 12

Another day, another ten wasted minutes looking in the mirror, whispering her wishes into the aether. Willow was really starting to suspect that her spell might be doing something besides what it was supposed to— but if so, she still couldn't tell what it was doing _instead_.

Her mood still shifted by the minute— one second she was thinking fondly of mochas with Tara, the next she was devastated thinking about Oz again, the next she was snapping at Giles for seemingly no reason. Altogether, it seemed obvious that her heart was _not_, in fact, healing. The Will-Be-Done spell wasn't working, and she wasn't sure why.

The question seemed at least worth a cursory investigation, so after another round of failed whispers to heal her heart and soothe her pain, she trekked back out to the library, _A Compendium of Witchcraft_ tucked securely into her backpack.

It was a pretty, sunny day, even if she wasn't in any particular mood to enjoy it. Still, she caught herself keeping half an eye out as she walked across campus, scanning through the crowds, as if she expected to see something. Or someone.

She was back to mulling over the specifics of the Will-Be-Done spell as she made her way back to the occult section and once again set up shop again at her usual table. Obviously _something_ had happened during the casting. The candles had reacted, and she had felt the surge of magic that accompanied the spell's completion. It didn't seem possible that it had just plain _failed_— usually a failed spell just fell flat.

But if it hadn't _failed_, then what _had_ it done?

Willow had hoped to maybe run into Tara again here at the library— hopefully less distressed than she had been yesterday— but no such luck. She didn't see her anywhere. Which was maybe just as well, if she hoped to get her research done without distraction.

Still, at the very least, she hoped that wherever Tara was, her week had taken an upswing. Especially now that she had her pen back. It had been lucky that Willow had ended up with it, of all people. That was kind of a funny coincidence.

Ignoring the niggling in the back of her mind, she returned her thoughts to the misfired spell and began selecting books from the shelf. Unfortunately, she couldn't find any direct reference to the spell, or to anything quite like it. All the spells she found were too specific. There was nothing as general as "make the caster's will manifest."

As she returned a few unhelpful books to the nearest shelving cart, she spotted two lone books lying on its bottom shelf. She recognized them as two of the library's better books on real magic and spellcasting. They were filled with little paper flags, and Willow curiously picked them up and flipped through them.

Post-it notes were stuck to certain pages, with little arrows pointing with notes like "_Maybe?_" or "_Double-check this cross-reference_" in a cheerful variety of pen colors.

Willow took the books back to her table, her own curiosity getting the better of her. The little sticky notes were all over the place, flagging all kinds of disparate spells. Mind control, teleportation, time travel. Willow couldn't find a connection between them.

One note in a chapter on memory spells pointed to one to induce amnesia. "_Maybe. But why?_" was written on it in a neat, elegant hand. Another one was stuck to a chapter on teleportation, with the message "_Too powerful. Is there anything similar, but weaker?_"

Willow turned to the last one in the book, which wasn't even a sticky note; it was a folded-over flyer, with a wall of handwritten text on the back. The chapter was on spells to alter time, and whoever had been using the book last was clearly _not amused_ by the book's take on the subject. They had written a lengthy diatribe on why literal time alteration or time travel was impossible, and a caster could only, at best, change a target's perception of time, and how irresponsible it was of the book to even suggest otherwise. It ranted that this chapter should have been tied back into the chapters on mind-altering spells, rather than given its own misleading chapter on the subject.

Willow found herself grinning unexpectedly at the righteous fury of the handwritten rant, her lips creeping upward without her permission. The writer's annoyance seemed to jump out of the page, and she reflexively unfolded it to make sure it didn't continue on the other side.

The other side was taken up by an advertisement for the Wiccan Student Alliance. Willow had been to their orientation meeting, but it had been… uninspiring, to say the least. For the most part, it seemed like just a group for hippie-dippy types to trade vegan recipes and revel in generalized misandry. Harmless, but not really what she was looking for.

But if someone in that club had a habit of writing impassioned and knowledgeable criticisms in real magical texts, then maybe she would need to give it a second look. After all, it would be nice to be able to compare notes with another witch for the first time in ages. Ever since Amy had begun living the life of cheese niblets and exercise wheels, she had only really been able to talk to Giles about her spellwork, and she had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't strictly approve of her most recent casting attempt.

But another witch her age might understand. Maybe they would know what heartbreak felt like, or the feeling of coming into your powers, feeling the magic grow day by day. Maybe they could help her find out what had gone wrong and help her put it right. And then, maybe, finally, together, the two of them could mend her heartbreak.

She copied down the time and place of the next group meeting into her planner. It was just that afternoon, so if everything went well, she could be talking magic with another witch by the end of the day. Her sense of optimism had been waning for weeks, but it was rallying now. Maybe she could still fix this. Maybe she could still make it work. After all, what _couldn't_ magic do?


End file.
